This weekend I’m heading up to my cottage up North.
Bear country. Fishing country. Nature…country.
Whatever you want to call it, it’s not the cement jungle in which I’m used to. However, like a true fashionista, I have packed 2 bags for a three-day weekend with friends because…being in the wilderness allows me to tap into rustic and stereo-typically Canadian outfits which would otherwise look ridiculous.
Other than the lumberjack plaid, touques and hiking boots…I’m not looking forward to leaving behind my creature comforts.
Yesterday I wrote about how if I were to write a book about my life up until this point it would be called “Never Been Loved”. Well let’s pretend that book became a New York Times Best Seller - and I was approached to make a film on it. This morning…would have been the opening montage to Never Been Loved.
This morning, I woke up feeling great. My hair (due to the humidity) had this cute relaxed curl, my make up looked great…and my outfit looked adorable. That’s where my good morning ended.
Upon leaving my apartment - I kicked a pigeon. Now this is quite often a weekly occurance. Anyone who lives in a big city knows that pigeons have a cocky attitude. They are so used to humans that often…instead of them getting out of your way - you have to get out of theirs. They fly low, because they are so used to humans ducking for them. So, about once a week…I awkwardly end up kicking a pigeon.
“Hey! Lady! I’m walkin’ here!” is what I imagine them saying. In a heavy New Jersey accent.
I’m then standing at a cross walk, next to a guy…which I can only describe using my inner dialogue.
“Look at this guy. He looks like if Pauly D…no…Ronnie. He looks like if Ronnie and a carrot made babies. Why is he so orange? Does he thinks he looks good? He actually looks like a carrot. Not just in colour - but actually, his physique looks like a carrot. All big in his upper body and teeny tiny little butt and legs. Ew.”
Not long after my charming little banter with myself did he turn around to face me.
Did he just call me sugar?
“You work here? I haven’t seen you around cupcake.”
AND THEN…my shoe breaks. The strap on my favourite matte black wedge heals that I just bought a few weeks ago - breaks.
This has just been my walk to work. It’s been a good morning. Sigh.
It’s been about a week. I find I’ve been struggling with writers block. No, not even writers block…creativity block…no…a living block.
So where I left off, Samantha was coming over. Where theres Samantha, there are boys. However, we didn’t go out to find them. Like 12 year olds - we sat on Facebook…window shopping if you will.
“Look at him! He’s cute right? I’ve slept with him. Oh and this guy…most amazing body. THIS GUY HERE! Ah! He wrote me a song!”
I’ve always been jealous of Samantha in that way. Her ability to make guys fall hopelessly in love with her has always been something I lack. Actually, I lack that skill severely. If I were to publish a book today about my life up until this point, I think it would be called “Never Been Loved”.
“They do love you.” Olivia said to me the other day. “They just tell you in weird ways.”
Those ways she’s referring to include:
- An boyfriend of a year couldn’t tell me to my face that he loved me, so he’d whisper it when he thought I was sleeping.
- Mr. Big - and drunken late nights texts which I would receive saying “I love you, but not like that.”
So here I am, with a few newly purchased boys to pursue. However I find myself doing a rather bad habit which many of us girls have. When we meet a cute boy, and we want to find a reason for why they are ‘the one’ we get a bad case of the ‘Me Too’s!’.
This is when we find ourselves agreeing to something the boy has said. We aren’t saying “Me too” because we truly agree. No, our me too means “I can live with that.”
As much as I enjoy the person I’m becoming, I find I miss more and more the days when I was just getting to know Mr. Big. We didn’t even have to have the conversations like “What was your favourite subject in school?” Or “Scenario: It’s a Friday night at 6pm, what would you be doing?” Because with Mr. Big, I know what his favourite subject is, what he would enjoy doing, what his favourite artists are…and all that comparable crap we all try to relate to, because he is a male-me. I already know what he likes - and it’s what I like…with no settling or compromises.
For all those dealing with a ‘bad break-up’, I must tell you…you are blessed. There is nothing worse then a ‘good’ break-up. Does that exist? You ask. Oh, yes…yes it does.
Mr. Big and I broke up just under a month ago. For the past few weeks I have spent that time mourning him. What is THAT? That’s not normal. I found myself wishing it would’ve ended messy. I found myself recalling the past break-ups. How I would spend a couple weeks crying, and then suddenly something would click. Something that would let me think “I’m better then that.”
Well, I am happy to tell you that he finally pissed me off.
Tomorrow, Samantha is coming over. She is ‘Samantha’ in every sense of the word - with the added bonus that her name is actually Samantha. We will crack open a $10 bottle of Rosé…
And at that point I will have some grand revelation that will allow me to finish this post.
After going to see Friends With Benefits last night (by myself - I might add), I came to realize that I am not the only one with a 5-date rule. Now, rules were meant to be twisted and broken, however - I try to stick to a 5-date rule.
I don’t know why we set ourselves up for disappointment. Justin Timberlake had it right in the movie when he tells Mila’s character that she gave him a 5-date rule, he saw the challenge, got some, and then left.
But my friends, what is more offensive then the man who enjoys a challenge - is the man who can’t handle the challenge. So that, brings me back to Prince Charming, who was given the 5-date challenge. Now two dates in (the last being two weeks ago), and several requests for sex, which I turned down…
“Five dates, you know the rule.”
He is now trying “The Check-In” approach. This ladies, is when a man does not text you or call you on a daily basis. You might see him sign-in online…but doesn’t talk to you. However - at any given point (usually on a weekend) he…checks in.
“Hey you! Long time no talk! I’ve been thinking a lot about you…what are you doing after the bar tonight?”
Translation: Hello girl, who I think is madly in love with me. I don’t want to date you, so I’ve been avoiding speaking with you. BUT - I do want to have sex with you. Has my lack of contact left you emotionally damaged enough…so that you might consider sleeping with me?
In the rules of he’s just not that into you - The Check-In is a classic…and one I will gladly ignore.